


Eyes Blue, Like the Atlantic

by bleedingballroomfloor



Series: My Heart Will Go On [1]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Car Sex, Character Death, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Drawing, Falling In Love, Forced Marriage, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Nude Modeling, Nudity, Parties, RMS Titanic, Sinking Ship, Suicidal Thoughts, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingballroomfloor/pseuds/bleedingballroomfloor
Summary: "Where to, sir?" Alex asks, the cigarette dangling from his grinning lips.Henry snakes his hands down his shoulders, bites down on his earlobe. "To the stars."
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Series: My Heart Will Go On [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978228
Comments: 19
Kudos: 44





	Eyes Blue, Like the Atlantic

**Author's Note:**

> The idea fell in my head, and I couldn't _not_ write this. Enjoy!

For Henry Fox, boarding upon the luxurious RMS Titanic is quite the opposite of what it promises. His problem isn't leaving the familiarity of London, it's more so diving into the unknown that is New York City to be married to the wealthy Dorothea Whitney, whose father runs a highly successful line of selling automobile parts. It will be good for the family, as Philip constantly reminds him, to have ties with Americans who come from old money. It will add more strength to the Fox legacy, and since Beatrice hasn't met a suitable bachelor yet and Miss Whitney is available, Henry doesn't need to wait, not when the sake of the family name is at stake, now do you, Henry?

He's sipping champagne as Philip drones on and on about his business deals back in London, trying his best to pay attention, really, he's trying. Bea shoots him a knowing look from across the table, hiding her smirk with her own champagne glass, and Henry flashes her a small smile back. A waiter sets down a plate of food in front of him and he becomes momentarily distracted by the neat, dark hair framing his square face, the slight flex of his bicep as he reaches across the table to put down another plate, the way his lips move when he says _"My pleasure, Mr. Fox"_ as Philip impatiently holds out his empty glass to be refilled. Idle appreciations. He allows them once in a while; a quick sweep of a man's features, a glance that lasts a single second longer than most would be comfortable with. And then someone is mentioning his name, and he snaps back to attention as if he wasn't eyeing up the male waiter, and the conversation has turned back to Miss Whitney, because of course it has.

He can feel his brother's eyes on him as the question hovers in the air. One of Philip's mates — Henry can't be bothered to know his name — is looking at him expectantly. Henry sets his glass down. Clears his throat.

"She's an exquisite woman." The sentence rolls off his tongue easily, just as Philip made him practice. "What's more, our marriage will open several business opportunities available in the States. I'm very lucky to have met her."

"So you'll be taking over the company alongside Philip after the wedding, I presume?" the woman besides him asks, raising a glass of wine to her lips.

Henry sits up straighter. "Actually —"

"Yes, Mildred, you would be correct." Philip's eyes are shooting daggers at him. Henry's throat closes off.

"Wonderful. Although I can't manage to see how you haven't convinced him earlier, Lord knows he needs something worthwhile to do with his life."

Philip chuckles low in his throat. "Duly noted."

"Pip," Bea warns him.

Henry stands up faster than he anticipates. "I need some air," he mutters. "Excuse me."

The air outside is crisp and clean. Henry makes his way over to lean against the stern, watching the miles of ocean disappear as the massive ship sails on. He closes his eyes, breathes it in, calms down a little. Being forced into an arranged marriage with an American woman is bad enough. Signing on to work alongside Philip for the rest of his life is a close second. But when he thinks about the two simultaneously... he can't imagine living that life. He just about shuts down whenever he thinks about it.

His finger brushes across his engagement ring, and God, he hates that thing. It's plain and silver, but it sticks out to him every time he looks in the mirror, every time he adjusts his tie and the cool metal brushes against his skin, every time he reaches out for his glass and hears the small _chink_ as the two materials meet. It brings him down, weighs heavy in his mind. He's engaged. He's engaged to a woman.

He knew it would always end up this way. It's 1912; there is no possible way he will be able to live a life in peace with a man at his side. It just isn't possible.

Before he realizes, he's taken a step on the first rail of the stern. He can feel the ever-so-slight mist of the ocean from this angle, and the feeling consumes him. He steps onto the second rail. Imagines what Philip would do if his future business partner is no longer in the equation, what he would say to Dorothea after his body is dominated by the icy waves lapping alongside the boat. Would he cry over his lost brother? Unlikely. Over the fact that his plans to expand their business were now long gone? That's more like it.

He manages to climb over the stern all together, peering over to watch the waves. Would the shock from the cold kill him first, or would it be from the force of the waves slamming his body into the ship? And which one would be the quickest way to go?

His heart is hammering in his chest. He can feel the beat pulsing in his ears, louder than the crash of the ocean could ever be. His palms are sweaty from gripping the rail, and at this point, he's clinging on by only his fingertips. One step. One step, that's all it will take to get out of this mess that Philip flung him into. One step, and it can all be over.

His breath stills, as if waiting for the water's impact, and yet he doesn't move.

He closes his eyes, laughing to himself. Even facing death, he's a coward. He is a coward standing up to his brother and a coward now.

Just one more step —

"Don't do it," a voice says, and his grip falters.

He whips around so fast that he nearly loses his balance. How ironic, he finds himself considering, that his plunge to death could have very well been because of a stranger telling him not to jump. He catches his breath, then turns around and meets the eyes of the person who nearly sent him over the edge. His heart stops.

A man — brown skin, brown curls, a cigarette resting on his bottom lip. He has one hand deep in his trouser pockets, the other raised in front of him, reaching out to Henry. His eyes — dear God, his _eyes_ — are wide and pleading. Like he cares.

He's absolutely bloody gorgeous.

"Get away," Henry says over the sounds of the ocean. He's surprised to hear the shake in his voice. "You don't — you don't need to see this."

"Then don't do it," the man repeats. He takes a few tentative steps closer. "Make sure I don't see this."

Henry squeezes his eyes shut. "Just — turn away, run off, or something," he says. "You don't know me. Just let me fall."

"Can't do that," the man says softly. Henry blinks his eyes open. A pair of big brown ones stare back at him, and Henry's heart misses several beats. He can't do this — can't do this now, not with this beautiful man staring at him like he's the only thing worth focusing on. "If you fall, I'll just have to jump right in after you."

Henry doesn't move. The man slowly moves his hand to his face. He takes the cigarette in between his middle and forefinger, smoke dancing from his pink lips the moment the cigarette leaves his mouth. He places one foot on the rail of the stern, undos his laces with one hand and tugs off his shoe. Does the same with his other shoe. "You know how cold that water is?" he asks, and Henry nods, still slightly dumbfounded. The man brings the cigarette to his lips again, his cheeks hallowing as he sucks in the smoke. He pops open the buttons of his vest with one hand. Drops it to the floor next to his shoes. "Well, getting cold _and_ wet wasn't quite on my agenda for the day. So I'd appreciate it if you helped me out and come back over the rail so I won't have to change my plans. It would mess up my entire night, you see."

He extends his hand again, palm up, waiting for Henry to take it. Henry can only stare at him. Here is this man, this man who knows absolutely nothing about him, threatening to jump into the water if Henry was to do so. Trying to guilt him out of taking his own life. And Henry is transfixed; he is mesmerized at the sight of this man, at the _audacity_ he has to try to talk Henry out of this. Who does he think he is?

"You're crazy," Henry breathes out.

Something flashes behind the man's eyes. "I get that a lot. But if I'm being honest, sir —" He leans forward, close enough that Henry can see the faint freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. "I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship." He smiles around the cigarette.

Henry stares. He's one step away from drowning in the frigid waters of the Atlantic, and this man is _smiling._ "You don't know anything about me," he murmurs. 

The man makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "That I don't. But one thing seems perfectly clear to me, and that's the fact that you're about to take your own life. Now I've had my fair share of life, but I'm smart enough to know that you've only got one. I don't plan on wasting the one I have, and even though you're clearly telling me otherwise, I don't think you should waste yours, either." He flicks his cigarette off the end of the ship, and Henry watches it tumble down, down, down, until it's too small to see in the dark night. "I don't want that to be you," the man says quietly. "C'mon. Take my hand."

Henry's shaking. He's right. Dammit, he's right.

Slowly, making sure his balance doesn't slip up, Henry reaches for the man. Their hands slip together, his grip firm, his fingers strong. He squeezes Henry tightly. "That's it," he whispers reassuringly. "I've got you. Turn around."

Henry does as he says. He twists around slowly, making sure each foot is planted firmly before he shifts his weight again. The man squeezes his hand tighter. Soon enough, he's managed to turn himself fully around, now face-to-face, body-to-body with this man. He locks eyes with his brown ones. Gets lost in his irises.

"Alex Claremont-Diaz," the man introduces.

Henry swallows. "Henry Fox."

Alex's smile grows wider. "A pleasure to meet you, Henry Fox. Now let's get you back on this ship."

Alex's hand never leaves his as he helps him back over the rail, and soon there's firm wood under his feet instead of the slippery edge of the ship, and he exhales heavily. His legs feel shaky. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"Hey, anytime," Alex says, his eyes twinkling. And then, _"Hey,"_ sounding more worried as Henry's legs give out and he sinks to his knees. Alex follows him, his other hand clutching onto his shoulder as if it was a lifeline. "You're okay. You're safe. _Breathe._ You're okay."

"Okay," Henry whispers, nodding too much. He blinks rapidly, his vision blurring at the edges. "I — I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I don't know what's gotten into me. I apologize, I —"

"Hey," Alex interrupts, moving his hand from his shoulder to cup the side of his face. Henry suddenly feels ten times more alert. "I don't know anything about you, but I'm sure that debating whether or not to throw yourself off the end of a ship doesn't randomly pop into your mind. Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Okay." Henry nods. Wills himself not to lean into Alex's touch. "Yeah, okay."

He allows himself a few more seconds, however. A few more seconds won't hurt.

"Thank you," Henry says again once he's regained his composure. "Truthfully. But I must be going, I have — company that'll be wondering where I've gone off too."

Alex cocks his head to the side. "Company, huh?" he repeats, a teasing flare to his words. "You sound excited."

"Business inquiries," Henry mutters. He pulls away from Alex's touch. Stands up again. His legs are still shaking slightly, but he's stable enough to walk back on his own. Pretend like this little incident never happened.

"Interesting," Alex comments. He stands next to Henry, a few inches shorter than he is. He didn't seem to notice that while standing at the end of the ship. "You know, I'm a bit of a business man myself. Business was what got me on this ship in the first place."

Henry raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. I'd be... I'd be delighted to join you and your, er — _company_ the next time you have these said inquiries. Bring some ideas to the table. Just a friendly meeting between some partners."

Henry thinks it over. He's never met anybody like this man. First he talks him out of jumping off a ship, now he's inviting himself to Philip's business meetings. Absolutely no self-control. Henry should be disgusted, but he's never _not_ had some sort of control over his life. The way Alex talks, the way he does something without pausing to think... it's oddly freeing. It's intoxicating. And maybe if Henry hadn't just tried to kill himself, an alarm would flash in his mind, warning him not to get drunk on Alex's mindset. But he _had_ tried to kill himself. He listened when Alex said he shouldn't waste his life.

Just this once, he'll let himself get tipsy on this man's morals.

"I'll talk to my brother," he promises.

Alex's face breaks into a grin. "Excellent." He takes Henry's hand in his again, shaking it firmly. "Once again, the pleasure is mine, Henry Fox. I would love to see you again. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Henry repeats faintly. "Yes — yes, I suppose so. Tomorrow. For business inquiries, I presume?"

A twinkle flashes in Alex's eyes for the second time that night. "Sure. For business."

Henry finds himself walking out on the deck with Philip, Martha, and Bea when he spots Alex again. He's sitting on a bench near the spot where they first encountered each other the night before, intensely leaning over a thick pad of paper. Even at a distance, he can see the way his face twists up in concentration. He forgets about his family, forgets about the seconds he allows himself to stare. Alex, to put it simply, was captivating.

A soft nudge breaks him out of his gaze. "Is that him?" Bea asks quietly, nodding towards Alex. 

Henry told his sister about their meeting, of course. How could he not? Bea was the only one who knew about Henry's preference for men, and she was the only one who noticed Henry's lost gaze when he returned to dinner the previous night. She pulled him aside when they were heading back to their rooms, far away from Philip's prying ears, and asked him what happened. And Henry told her — well, for the most part. She didn't have to know about him nearly jumping. It was irrelevant now. No need to bring it up again. He did, however, tell her that he had been feeling slightly sick at the constant talk of his marriage and being forced into the family business, and a nice stranger had talked him through his worries. A handsome stranger, at that, with tangled curls and bright eyes and a right distracting mouth — 

"Yes," Henry says softly as not to disturb Philip. He doubts his brother even notices their side conversation, too wrapped up in talking about his plans in the States with Martha. Still. He always needs to be careful. "He told me he wanted to see me again. Apparently he's here for business as well."

"Is that true?" Bea glances over at Philip, who's still talking endlessly. "I have an idea. Philip," she says loudly, causing them all to stop. Henry feels his cheeks heat up. "Henry and I are going to stay out here for a bit. I want to give him some advice when he meets Miss Whitney for the first time."

Philip looks surprised, but says, "Of course! Mazzy and I will continue on our stroll, I'll see you two for tea, I presume?"

"Of course," Henry says. He's about to turn away when he feels Philip's hand on his shoulder, and he tenses up instantly. He wonder if Philip can feel the resentment. 

"I see that you're starting to open up to this marriage," he says lowly in Henry's ear. "Well done."

"Of course," Henry says again, because that's just about the only thing he can say. 

Philip and Martha walk away, and Bea nods towards the bench where Alex is and walks away, and Henry is walking towards him before he even registers doing so, and the next thing he knows, he's standing right next to the man. He clears his throat. "Hello again."

Alex looks up from his drawing. "Hey," he says, his face breaking into a boyish grin. He brushes his curls back, and Henry wants so badly to run his own hands through his hair. "Mr. Fox. The pleasure is mine."

"Please, Henry is just fine." Henry nudges the leg of the bench. "May I?"

"Yeah, no problem." Alex scootches to the other side of the bench. His eyes never leave Henry, and Henry can't focus when Alex is looking at him like that. He raises an eyebrow, and Alex chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. It's just — last night, I knew your name sounded familiar. So I did my research, and." His eyes narrow. "You're Henry Fox as in... as in the Fox steel company?"

Henry made a small, unappreciative noise in the back of his throat. "The very same."

"So your brother..."

"Philip Fox, heir to the steel fortune," Henry recites bitterly. This is just about the last thing he wants to talk about with Alex. "Why must you know?"

"Well, you see — and correct me if I'm wrong — I'm assuming that you rarely have financial troubles. You're aboard the ship of dreams, for Christ's sake. So that just makes me wonder..." His voice drops. "What's so bad about your life that would make you want to jump?"

Henry looks down. "It's complicated," he manages. 

"I don't doubt that," Alex responds, leaning back in his seat. "But from an outsider's perspective, it gets me thinking. I mean, you've got a successful business just waiting for you, you have a girl back home —" He gestures to the engagement ring on Henry's finger, and Henry's heart stops. "You've got family —"

"That's the problem," Henry hears himself say. "I do have a girl... but I don't necessarily want her." He can't believe he's saying this out loud, to another man, no less. 

But Alex's grin only grows wider. "Ah, I see. Secret affair got serious, something like that?"

"Something like that," Henry says, and that's that, the conversation is done. That's as far as Henry needs to take it. "Actually, no," he laughs weakly. "When I say I don't necessarily want her... not just her. I seem to not want any sort of girl." He pauses. "If you understand what I mean."

Alex falls silent, and that’s it, Henry thinks. He’s gone and scared him off because he couldn’t keep himself from shutting up about his preference for men, all because he hoped Alex would feel the same way, but really, he shouldn’t be assuming these things, and now he’s messed everything up —

"I do understand, actually," Alex says softly. "Um — me too. Sometimes, I mean. I mean —" He scratches the back of his neck. Laughs shakily. "Both is good. You know?"

And Henry gets it.

"Yeah. I know."

The silence hangs in the air again, but it’s not suffocating. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's oddly comforting.

"Well, now last night’s events make a little more sense," Alex laughs.

"Yes, I suppose so," Henry says. He can’t help the small smile that rests upon his lips. Alex shifts, and Henry’s eyes drop to the papers in his lap. "What’s this?"

Alex follows his gaze. "Oh, these? Just some drawings. It’s nothing special."

"Nothing special?" Henry repeats with a scoff. He touches the corner of the first piece of paper. "May I?"

Alex hesitates, then nods. Slowly, Henry pulls the paper out from underneath Alex’s arm and sets it in his own lap.

It's a picture of a girl, her face turned to the side, eyes closed, a bright smile on her face. Henry stares at it in awe. Alex managed to captivate every detail on the girl’s face, every line of her smile, every crease of her eye. She looks so alive on this ordinary piece of paper.

"This is brilliant," Henry breathes out. "Who is this?"

"My sister," Alex says. "She lives in New York now, actually. I haven’t seen her for a while, I’ve been busy traveling. It’ll be nice to meet up with her again."

"She’s lovely." Henry slides the drawing back to Alex. "Do you have any more?"

Alex looks surprised. "A few, yeah." He shifts through the papers, pausing to let Henry look at them. The papers are full of sketches of men with long noses, women with tight curls, children with wide smiles. A girl with crooked teeth, a boy with blushing cheeks. And they all looked so alive. So _free._

"They're just sketches," Alex murmurs. "Nothing impressive, just something for me to do when I'm surrounded by others."

"I think it's wonderful," Henry says firmly. "So you're a businessman _and_ an artist."

Alex laughs, his eyes shining as Henry meets his gaze. "That's right. I'm the full package."

His smile is dazzling, his cheeks are flushed, and Alex looks so beautiful in this moment that the words slip out before Henry even has the chance to think about them. "Come have dinner with me."

Alex blinks, his smile still bright as ever. "What?"

"I mean it." And he does, he truly does. "You said it yourself, you wanted to sit down with my brother and his mates. I'm giving you the chance. Tonight."

"Henry." He gives a weak little laugh. "I wasn't — I was saying those things because I wanted to see you again, Christ —"

"Well, I don't care. I'll tell Philip to expect an extra seat in our party. He would be very interested in whatever you have to say; he's completely obsessed with making ties with American manufacturers. And there's no need to stress about it, Philip can be harsh, but it's best if you just ignore him —"

 _"Henry,"_ Alex says again, squeezing Henry's hands with his, which immediately shuts him up. "I appreciate the opportunity, I really do, and the efforts you're taking for me, but there's no way I can actually take you up on this. I mean, look at me — and then you! I can't even _think_ about being able to afford the clothes you're wearing. Y'all have seven different forks for one goddamn meal, I don't know anything about proper etiquette. I'm going to make a fool out of myself and of you."

"I can take care of everything," Henry promises him. He doesn't let go of his hands, which is incredibly stupid of him; there's people walking around on the deck and they're in broad daylight, but nobody seems to be looking their way and Henry can't quite bring himself to care. "I promise you. Just promise me you'll come tonight."

Alex stares at him, unblinking. Finally, an exasperated sigh slips from his lips. "Fine. Only if you let me take you somewhere afterwards. That's my one condition."

"I think that can be arranged," Henry says, his mouth curling into a smile.

His hands feel significantly colder when Alex carefully breaks from his grasp.

He looks lovely that evening — a sharp black tux with a white buttoned shirt and matching white bow tie. His curls are styled neatly on top of his head, a highly noticeable distinction from his usual windswept look. But nothing compares to how he looks when he catches sight of Henry as they meet at the clock besides the grand staircase. "Henry," he greets, shaking his hand with his. "Looking wonderful as always."

"And you as well," Henry replies. He swears their hands linger a second longer than a regular handshake would permit. "Pleased that you could join us this evening."

Alex snorts. "Yeah, yeah, enough with the formalities. You're rich, we get it."

"Hmm, can't help it. It's in my blood, I suppose."

"Ah, Henry," Philip interrupts, coming up beside his brother, "is this the man you've mentioned? How do you do, sir?"

"Excellent, sir." Alex shakes hands with Philip. "I hope my presence isn't too much trouble."

"Nonsense. What was your name again?"

"Alex, sir."

"And your surname?"

"Claremont-Diaz."

Philip hums. "Not familiar. Well, we don't want to be late, do we Henry? Let's all head down."

Dinner, for the most part, is uneventful. If Alex is fazed by the extravagances, he doesn't show it. He sits quietly next to Henry as the table discusses the accomplishments of the Titanic. The woman from the night before, Mildred, marvels at the fact that they're able to be the firsts to experience the biggest ship of its time, but grumbles that they should be able to go a tad faster if the ship really was that magnificent. A man across from her, William, mentions that he spoke to the captain, who assured him that they would be making it to New York hours ahead of schedule. "Two victories for the Titanic," he says, raising his glass. "As remarkable as its size is, the common folks don't care anymore. It's all about making an impression."

Eventually, the conversation turns to Alex. "Henry tells me that you're aboard this fine ship for a business trip, Mr. Claremont-Diaz," Philip says. "What sort of business do you dabble in, if I may?"

"Oh, I'm not here for a trip," Alex corrects him. He sets down his fork and knife. "I had a small transaction that landed myself a ticket on this ship, that's all."

"Well, do tell," Philip encourages. "I'm quite intrigued by American business myself."

Alex shrugs. "Lucky hand in poker."

The table falls silent.

"Excuse me?" Philip asks.

"I had a lucky hand in poker," Alex repeats. He leans back in his seat. "Came across a group of buddies playing cards in a small pub, asked me if I wanted to join next game. Pretty uneventful until one of them threw in their ticket to board this lovely ship. And what do you know, I got dealt the winning hand. So I grabbed that ticket and ran on board just in time. Would've missed the boat if I was two minutes slower, I bet. And now we're all here, and New York's right around the corner. Who know's what'll happen there? Maybe they've built a new ship of dreams, maybe they're getting ready to send it off as soon as this one docks. Maybe I'll win myself a ticket for that one, too. But then again, who knows? I sure as hell don't." He picks up his champagne glass, takes a deep drink. "That's just the beauty of life. Or, that's how I like to see it."

Henry can't tear his eyes away from him.

Bea's the one to first break the silence, laughing loudly. "That's bloody brilliant." Alex grins and tips his glass towards her.

"What a... fortunate situation," Martha manages, although her smile is straining, Henry notes.

"Yes, that's one way to put it." Philip's voice has gone to ice, much like the tone he uses with Henry whenever he mentions his hesitations about the marriage and Miss Whitney. "You've even managed to sneak your way into a first-class dining hall with highly respectable men. Tell me," he says, his eyes flashing dangerously, "how are the accommodations in steerage?"

Henry can see the beginnings of a smirk twisting at the corner of Alex's lips. "Lovely," he says.

The dinner wraps up fairly quickly after that, and Henry can't help but wonder if their party would have lasted longer if Philip continued to believe that Alex was what he would call "a proper gentleman." Philip and the rest of his mates stand up to leave for the smoking room and Alex excuses himself from the party, but not before thanking Philip profusely for allowing him the opportunity to dine with "fine gentlemen such as yourselves." Henry stands to shake his hand goodbye, and as the rest of the company is pushing in their chairs and chatting politely, Alex takes the small distraction as an opportunity to lean in close to Henry's ear and mutter, "Meet me at the clock. I still have a party you promised I'd take you to."

"That was your business deal," Henry says hours later, breathless. "A game of poker?"

"Hey. A _lucky_ game of poker." Alex slides him a beer. "Luckiest game I've ever played. Wouldn't have met you if it wasn't."

"Yes," Henry says, dragging his eyes down Alex's body. "Yes, that's true."

They've both been steadily getting drunk, which isn't a good thing, Henry thinks. Those second-long glances he usually allows himself have turned into three, sometimes even five. The worst part is that he can't even bring himself to care. His eyes drop to Alex's lips again, where he's sucking languidly on a cigarette. Alex notices and smirks. Runs his tongue over his bottom lip. "You can't look at a man like that and not expect him to want to drag you away from everyone else," he says lowly.

It's the first time either of them has explicitly acknowledged their attraction towards each other, and it's loud enough in the small room that Alex _can_ say something like that in the first place without the fear of being overheard, and Henry feels something hot twist low in his gut. He reaches across the table and takes the cigarette from Alex's mouth, bringing it to his own lips. "Maybe later," he hums, taking a deep drag. "If I recall correctly, you wanted to show me what exactly a real party consisted of." He blows the smoke out into Alex's face.

Alex barely blinks as the smoke dances around him. "Never took you for a smoker, Fox."

"Not usually," Henry admits, resting the cigarette in between his lips. "Although it certainly helps when the one's who's offering is as handsome as you are."

The atmosphere in the room is something he's never experienced before, full of drunken laughter and people falling into tables but not caring, and Henry's never openly flirted with a man in public before, and Alex is sitting right there in front of him, eyeing him like he's a part of the first-class meal they just dined on, and Henry can't handle it anymore. He stubs the cigarette on the sticky table and raises his beer glass to his mouth instead. "I would like to dance with you."

"Wishful thinking, baby." Alex mirrors him, taking a gulp from his own beer. "You don't even know how badly I want to pull you up on that stage and spin you around in front of everyone. But, you know," he says, and Henry knows. "I can, however, point you towards the many other festivities offered here tonight. You can arm wrestle people in that corner, you can play poker in the next one. Just say where and I'll take you."

They end up floating over to the card tables, something, for once, that Henry is unfamiliar with and Alex is more than happy to guide him through. Henry's introduced to games such as blackjack, which he loses _terribly_ at; solitaire, at which point he finally starts to pick up the points of the game; and finally poker. By that point he runs out of pocket money to bet on, and no doubt to the influence of all the beers he's been drinking, finds himself betting on things like, "My brother's steel fortune, I'll put that on the table. Lord knows I don't bloody want it."

"I like the way you think, lad!" an older gentleman yells at him, spilling liquor over himself.

They play for hours on end until Henry is too drunk to remember the rules of the game and Alex is too busy laughing at him to properly pay attention. He settles for watching Alex dance with a young girl whom he recognized from the night before, Alex explains, and smiles to himself as Alex twirls her through the air, sets her on his feet so she's a few inches taller, shoots dazzling looks at Henry from across the dance floor. Alex is positively stunning. Henry doesn't know how much he can take just sitting there and not being able to touch him.

It's nearly four in the morning by the time the party wraps up. Henry walks back with Alex to his room in steerage, his tux jacket slung over one shoulder. He feels completely disheveled, but it's a good feeling. It's more than simply good to know that he can finally feel _alive_ , to realize that he hasn't been wasting his life away just to marry rich and get richer. Tonight with Alex made him sure of it. He wants to live his life the way Alex lives his, full of surprises and spontaneity and winning a ticket on a ship to New York just because he can. It's exhilarating; the exact opposite of everything Henry was taught — don't do anything without thinking it through, Philip always said. Never act out of turn; there's always someone watching. And most importantly, don't mingle with those out of first class, we don't want to tarnish the family name, now do we?

To hell with the family name. Henry doesn't care anymore. He'll pass up all the pounds in the world if it means he can spend another night like this again with Alex.

They stop in front of a narrow white door in the cramped hallway, Alex leaning casually against it, a glint in his eyes. He looks so good with the top buttons of his shirt undone, a silver chain with an old key on the end hanging proudly from his neck, his white bow tie undone, his curls plastered to his sweaty skin, and Henry wants to kiss him so badly. And so he tells him as such.

Alex exhales heavily. "I know, darling," he whispers, linking their pinkie fingers together, and there it is — touch. "Believe me, I know. But we can't — not here. Not here, you know that. But tomorrow..." He takes a fraction of a step closer to Henry. "Tomorrow I'll steal you away, and we can go back to your room with no one to bother us. How does that sound?"

"Delightful," Henry whispers back.

"Alright then. I guess I'll find you somewhere tomorrow." Alex's voice is soft, softer than Henry has heard him before. He unlaces their fingers. "Goodnight, Henry."

"Goodnight, Alex. And... thank you. For tonight."

As promised, Alex finds Henry the following afternoon, having managed to sneak onto the first class deck. Henry's expecting him. What Henry wasn't expecting, however, was Philip lecturing him not a moment earlier about that "Claremont-Diaz boy; you should have absolutely no ties to him, Henry, he's clearly only after our wealth." And Henry could grit his teeth through the speech and nod appropriately, but he froze up when Philip placed a hand on his shoulder and said lowly into his ear, "And we don't want any, ah... _rumors_ going around, do we?" Sharp nails pierced into his shoulder at the exact moment Henry's heart pierced open. "Stay away from him."

He can still see the ends of Philip's tailcoat whip out of sight when Alex approaches him, smiling and his hands in his pockets as he walks with an easy grace, and it's almost, _almost_ easy enough to forget Philip's words and disappear with Alex. But alas, the fear starts to consume him.

"Did something happen?" Alex asks right away. It pains Henry to think about just how easily Alex can read him, and it's only been a few days. "Henry, did someone hurt you?" he asks quickly, his voice shaking.

"No, nothing of that sort," Henry manages. "Just, um. Uh —"

"Walk with me?" Alex suggests, and yeah, Henry can do that. He nods, and they set off, a respectable distance between the two.

Henry doesn't dare say anything until they're in the privacy of the halls leading to the first class suites, and even then he feels as though he needs to be wary. Was he not as subtle as he thought? All those times, all those glances, was it just as bad as leaning over the table and kissing him full on the mouth? Is that even what Philip meant by rumors?

"What's wrong?" Alex says in an undertone as they walk through the halls.

Henry exhales shakily. "My brother, um. I think he knows — or suspects, possibly, about. About me." Henry gestures to the two of them. "Us."

"Ah."

Henry stops. "I don't know if we'll be able to do this anymore," he says slowly. He purposely doesn't look at Alex. He doesn't want to see the hurt, the anger in his eyes.

The silence stretches long between them. "Are you seriously going to let your brother win like that?" His voice sounds strained.

Henry sighs, rubbing his face with his hand. "It's not quite that simple —"

"But it _is,"_ Alex says, and he sounds so desperate that Henry just has to look up. Alex isn't looking at him either, instead his eyes are turned down to the floor, his hands in the deep pockets of his trousers. "You have a choice, Henry. You always do. It just depends if you’ve got the courage to act upon it, and I know you do. God, I just _know."_

"Alex," Henry says, his voice soft.

"No, no, just listen to me for a second." Alex meets Henry’s eyes this time, and Henry’s surprised to see the anger in his eyes. "You — Hen, I saw you come alive last night. You looked so different from the guy I saw hanging off the rail of a ship, and you loved it there. I know you did. And now you're telling me that you just want to give that all up? You're that willing to throw that entire part of you away just because your brother has a slight suspicion that you'd rather fuck —"

A door shuts some feet away, making them both freeze. An older woman walks out of a room at the end of the hall, barely spares the two a glance, and walks away.

"Not here," Henry mutters.

He leads Alex silently down the halls until they reach the door to Henry's suite. He unlocks it, and with a glance up and down the halls to ensure that they were alone, walks inside with Alex close behind him. He shuts the door and locks it, but doesn't turn back around. He isn't sure if he can face Alex and the truth of his words. He waits for Alex to speak up again, his shoulders tensed.

But the silence presses on. Concern starts to prickle in Henry's mind. He turns around and flinches when he sees the anger in Alex's eyes replaced with tears.

"Hey," Henry whispers. He crosses over and pulls Alex into his arms. "Don't cry. Please. I'll be alright."

"You don't know that," Alex chokes out, clinging onto Henry. "I hate the idea of you being stuck in a loveless marriage, and I hate the thought of you working yourself to the bone at your brother's stupid steel company, I hate it, I _hate_ it. You deserve to be happy, Hen. You really do."

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Henry laughs weakly, but it's getting harder and harder for him to believe himself. Because Alex's words are exactly what he wants to hear, giving him a slight string of hope when he knows there isn't any, and his embrace is so warm and easy to fall into, and Henry doesn't think he'll be able to pull away. He doesn't necessarily want to pull away.

"But you do," Alex whispers in his ear. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all this time; that you do. You can get away from him, this life, all of it. He can't hold you down forever, you know that, right? You just have to... you just have to make it count." He presses his nose against the column of his throat, breathes him in. It makes Henry shiver. "It's all up to what you want, so... what do you want, Henry?"

"I want you," Henry says immediately. He can barely get the words out from how thick the emotion is clogging his throat. He pulls Alex closer to him, wraps his fingers in his hair, and it's soft, so soft. "I want to get away from Philip and live my own life and... I don't know," he laughs in Alex's ear. "It doesn't matter."

Alex curses. He pulls away from the embrace and cups Henry's face in his hands, much like he did after he pulled Henry back onto the deck, and Henry just about melts. "When will you learn," he says softly, a smile twisting at the corner of his lips, "that it does matter? That I care about what you want to do?"

Henry is silent for a moment. "I," he manages, and then he gets lost in Alex's beautiful brown eyes.

Alex laughs quietly. "Henry Fox, you beautiful, beautiful, bastard," he whispers, brushing his thumbs against his cheekbones, and then he kisses him.

Henry feels as though he's on fire. His hands fly to grip the collar of his shirt as he kisses back with just as much force as Alex is giving him, full of vigor and want and desperation. Their lips are rough but Alex’s hands are soft, gently caressing his face in touches that are only meant for lovers and it makes Henry want to cry and scream and pull him close and kiss him twice as hard. He settles for the latter.

Alex’s hands fly to his hair as his tongue brushes against Henry’s and he moans, he fucking _moans,_ and Henry can barley keep himself together. He deepens the kiss, moving one hand up to cradle the back of his neck. He can feel the soft scrape of Alex’s stubble against his own skin, can taste the hint of cigarettes on his tongue, can smell the scent of his shampoo, and it becomes all too much right then and there. He pulls away from their kiss, or kisses, kissing, with a wet pop and flickers his eyes up to Alex. He stares back at him, panting slightly, his pupils blown.

"Don’t tell me you don’t want this," he says lowly when Henry opens his mouth, "because I know you do. God," he steps closer, wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, presses an open-mouth kiss to his jaw, and Henry lets him. "Just let yourself have this, baby."

Henry shivers. He’s completely right, and he _knows_ he’s right, and he can feel the walls that he's been building up around himself his entire life slowly crash and fall with each kiss Alex leaves on his skin. It's getting harder and harder to convince himself that this is not what he wants, that _Alex_ isn't what he wants, and the harder he thinks about Miss Whitney and the steel company and Philip, the more he despises the idea of it all, the more enticing Alex's words are, and when Alex whispers, "You deserve to be happy," soft and small into his ear, that's when the final wall crashes down and leaves him bare and yearning for a life that he never thought he would be able to live.

"Okay," he says quietly, his voice breaking.

"Yeah?" Alex breathes back, sliding his nose across his jaw.

"Yes, _yes,"_ Henry declares, grabbing Alex's face in his hands and kissing him fiercely, and it feels as though the weight of the world has finally been lifted off his chest.

They hide away in Henry's rooms for the majority of the day, kissing and talking and touching, and it doesn't take long for Henry to question why he ever thought it would be a good idea to give up Alex and his promises in exchange for Philip's constant nagging about the family's legacy. Alex tells him stories about his travels, from Texas to Washington, D.C., New York to Paris, Berlin to London, and now back to New York. And Alex is laughing and getting tipsy off of the red wine stored in the lounge, and he looks beautiful and Henry wants to pull him close and kiss him until he realizes that he _can_ in the safety of the suite, so he does just that.

"What's this?" he asks against his lips. He had involuntarily unbuttoned the top two buttons of Alex's shirt and now has the chain of Alex's necklace twirled around his finger. He nudges his nose against his, capturing his lips in another chaste kiss. "The key, I mean."

"Oh, this old thing?" Alex chuckles, kissing him long and hard, and they really can't seem to keep their hands off each other. "It's the key to the house I grew up in back in Texas. It's just a nice reminder of where I came from whenever I'm traveling. Some sort of constant, y'know?"

"Not particularly, no." Henry brushes the strands of Alex's curls behind his ear. "I've rarely traveled outside of Europe; I've never needed something such as this to ground me. It suits you, however."

Later on, Alex's attention shifts to the handful of paintings scattered around the room. Now it's Henry's turn to tell him stories about the artists behind the pieces and how Philip acquired them, about the backstory behind each work, and Alex hangs on to every word he says. He lights up when Henry mentions a name he recognizes and pulls out the pad of sketches out of his bag, flipping the pages and showing Henry the drawings he did after said artist, and Henry can't take it anymore. He crawls into Alex's lap and kisses the spot behind his ear. "Alex, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls." He slides his hand down his chest, tugging at the chain again. "Wearing this."

"Alright," Alex sighs, his voice breathless.

"Wearing only this."

He means to give the chain back when Alex finishes the drawing — slightly pink in the face, if he may add — he truly does. But Alex is sliding the picture of Henry stretched on top of the couch in all his naked glory back into his bag, and the next thing he knows, he's climbing on top of him, whispering a promise of, "We'll put that in a museum someday, baby," against his lips and kissing him again, and Henry falls so into it that when a series of knocks echoes through the sitting room and Philip's voice sounds, it hits him like a douse of icy-cold water.

He hurriedly throws on his shirt, trousers, and waistcoat before he and Alex dash into the bedroom and lock the door just before Philip comes bursting into the room, calling out for him. Alex is trying his hardest not to laugh, and when they hear Philip open the door to another room, Alex grabs his hand and whispers, "Do you trust me?"

Well of course Henry does, so he nods, and suddenly Alex is pulling him from the room and into the hallways, tripping on his own feet as they run past rows of doors. Henry doesn't dare look back to see if Philip is following them; instead he focuses on the way the wind whistles in his ears as they break through the doors to the deck and the way Alex's hand feels in his palm. They're getting looks from the other passengers on the ship but Henry doesn't _care_ anymore, and it's so oddly freeing that tears start to prickle in the corners of his eyes.

Alex pulls him into an elevator, claiming he saw Philip's paled face as they turned a corner, drags him down the halls of steerage, pushes him into a room that he didn't know was there, climbs down a ladder that leads them to what could only be the engine room. Henry immediately feels the clothes start to stick to his skin from the heat being emitted in every possible direction. Alex nudges him and takes off again, yelling cries of "Carry on! Don't mind us, you're doing a great job, keep up the good work!" to the confused workers. They run through a cloud of steam, and then there's a door right in front of them. Henry pushes it open and immediately doubles up in a lame attempt to catch his breath. Alex follows him, slamming the door shut and leaning back against it, breathing heavily. He pulls out a cigarette with shaking fingers and lights it, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep drag. There's a glint in his eye not unlike the one he had during the party from the night before. It makes Henry lose sight of everything in the world except for him.

"Cargo room," he says simply, gesturing around the room with the hand holding the cigarette. "You wanna check it out?"

Henry nods. Alex takes his hand and maneuvers them both through the stacks of crates that line the floor. They turn a corner, and Henry's eyes fall upon an automobile stored in the middle of the room. Alex chuckles as they cross over to it. He stops in front of the side door, pulling it open and offering his hand, a playful smiling teasing his lips. Henry's face breaks into a grin. He places his hand in Alex's, using it to step inside the car. "Thank you."

Alex slides behind the steering wheel as Henry pushes down the partition separating them. He honks the horn twice, making a laugh escape from Henry's throat.

"Where to, sir?" Alex asks, the cigarette dangling from his grinning lips.

Henry snakes his hands down his shoulders, bites down on his earlobe. "To the stars."

In a moment's decision, he slips his arms under Alex's shoulders and pulls him into the backseat. They land on the seat together, laughing, one of Alex's arms flung over Henry's shoulders. Alex takes one last puff of the cigarette and throws it out the window. Henry immediately reaches out to clasp his free hand, but their fingers don't interlace. Instead, they slide over the rough palm of his hand, his knuckles, presses against the callouses on his fingertips. The adrenaline from running from Philip has worn off now, their breathing slowed. Henry can't look away from him.

"You nervous?" Alex asks. Henry briefly wonders if they're thinking about the same thing.

"No."

He drags Alex's hand closer to his mouth and presses open-mouthed kisses to each of his fingers. He hears Alex's breath hitch, and he glances up at him. His eyes are darker than they were a second ago, his playful demeanor dropped for something more sensual. Henry drops his eyes to his perfect pink lips. Decides to take a chance. "Put your hands on me, Alex."

And so Alex leans down and catches his mouth is a deep kiss, leaning forward until Henry's back is against the leather seat of the car. The kisses soon grow heated, more labored. Hands start to wander, buttons start to come undone, hips start to press together. Alex touches him, and Henry groans into the thick air.

"You've done this before?" Alex asks in between kisses, and Henry nods, yes, yes, he's done this a few times, although not for a long while, but he needs this, _please,_ he needs this, and Alex is nodding back and pushing his trousers away, and soon enough he's pushing in with soft kisses to his neck. His thrusts are gentle at first, and Henry rocks back with a whimpering plead of "Want to feel you, love," and Alex bites a mark into his collarbone and pushes in twice as hard. Their lips meet over and over again, a mixture of hushed praises and filthy promises, their hands tugging at each other's hair. Alex grabs Henry's left hand with his own, and Henry laces their fingers together, but it's not what Alex wants. Then both of his hands are on his one, tugging, and Henry can't quite keep up, but he feels his engagement ring slide off his finger, hears it bounce off the car window as Alex throws it aside, and Alex's hands are all over him again, his lips dancing across his jaw, and when he whispers _"Mine,"_ deep and gravelly into his ear, Henry comes so hard that his hips lift off the leather.

They make out like teenagers after Alex finishes inside him, Henry grabbing his arse, Alex cupping his face. The windows have completely fogged up, the leather seat sticks uncomfortably to his skin. Henry doesn't care.

"You're trembling," Henry says when they finally break apart. His nose brushes against his. Alex can't stop staring at him.

"Don't worry," he breathes out, "I'll be alright." He brushes strands of hair out of Henry's eyes, and then his lips are on him again, hungry and warm and pliant.

They stay there for longer than they should, cheek to chest, skin to skin, Henry's hands carding through Alex's curls.

Apparently the people in the engine room weren't too happy about their small escapade, and the two of them just barely make it onto the deck in time before the crew members find two naked men in the backseat of a car. Henry laughs freely into the cool air, clutching onto Alex's shoulder. Alex is wiping his eyes as he tries his best not to catch Henry's eye, because every time they've made eye contact, it sends him over the edge again. Instead he pulls Henry to his chest and buries his face in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet. His hair makes the skin tickle. "Did you see the look on their faces?" he manages between giggles. "Oh, man. I can't believe that actually happened."

"Nor can I," Henry breathes out against his curls. "I can't remember the last time... I don't think there's _ever_ been an instance where I..."

There's adrenaline running through his veins from the sex, from running away from the crew members, and now in this moment, from caressing Alex out in the open like this, even though night has already fallen and they're the only two people on this area of the ship. That doesn't make his heart race any less.

"Hey," Henry says, still breathless, pushing Alex's head up so he can see his face. "I never asked. But it's just come to me, and I — I need to know — why me?" Alex looks confused, so Henry continues. "The first night. You talked me out of jumping... why me?"

Alex laughs quietly at that. "Well, that's easy. I like to think that I can read emotions pretty well, and that night... well, you were definitely desperate for an escape. Anyone could have seen that. But I knew that killing yourself wouldn't solve whatever you were going through. And now that I know what you were actually going through then, I still stand by that. More than ever. So I took a chance. And then you turned around, and you were the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. I couldn't let you go that easily. And a good thing, too... I mean, look at us now."

"Alex," Henry whispers, his heart hurting.

And maybe it's his confession, or maybe it's the way Alex is looking at him, or maybe it's when Alex leans in close to his ear and whispers, "Your eyes are as blue as the Atlantic, and I'm drowning in them," but something snaps inside of Henry. Something shifts, and he makes a decision.

"When the ship docks in New York, I'm coming with you."

"Yeah?" Alex breathes out. "You sure?" And Henry nods; he's never been more sure of anything in his life, and Alex laughs again and pulls him even closer. "This is crazy," he mutters, their lips brushing.

"I know, I know," Henry says, and he kisses him right there on the deck, and there's people that could see them, but Alex kisses back with just as much vigor, and Henry doesn't _care,_ doesn't care, doesn't care. Because Alex's lips are warm and taste like home, and Henry relishes in it, licking into his mouth, tangling his fingers in his dark curls and tugging.

A loud bang breaks them apart. Henry looks around in bewilderment, his heart beating in his throat, and not even a half second later does a massive, towering iceberg come into view. Chunks of ice break off as the ship scrapes against it, dropping onto the deck in front of them. Alex immediately pushes him back, standing in front of him as if he has the power to protect him from the falling blocks of ice. They watch the ship pass by the destructive thing and Henry, feeling slightly insane, thinks they managed to avoid any long-sustaining damage.

Other passengers are coming out onto the deck now, leaning over the rail to catch a last glimpse of the iceberg, and Henry and Alex hurry over to do the same. It's looks minuscule now that the distance between it and the ship is so great, almost laughable, but Henry turns his head and sees the ice spread out on the dock and knows that it's no laughing matter.

"It's looks alright," Alex says, leaning over to peer at the lower levels of the ship. "I can't see any sign of major damage. I think we're okay." He looks up at Henry and flashes him a grin. "Hey. We're okay."

His heart is still racing, and all he wants to do is pull Alex into his arms and hold him close. But there's people around now, and they can't, Henry knows they can't. "Okay," he says instead. He says okay and prays to God that it's true.

They pass by the Captain as they make their way back to the first class deck. He's barking orders at the crew members, and Henry hears the phrase _"Fill the lifeboats"_ slip out. He tenses up. Glances at Alex.

His face is paler than normal, and Henry knows that he heard the same thing. They keep walking.

"I should go find my sister," Henry says minutes later. He wonders if the people in first class even noticed the iceberg. The band is still playing, the guests are still dining. Henry can't tell if they're being stupid or simply downright ignorant.

Alex stops. "I — yeah. Of course." He slides his hands into his pockets.

But he doesn't move. Henry doesn't either, just keeps staring at him, confused by his sudden change of heart. Then something clicks in his brain.

"Come with me?" he asks, and Alex visibly relaxes, nodding too many times and falling into step next to Henry. Because he meant it. He meant what he said about going with Alex, whether that was in first class or New York.

He spots Bea after a fruitful attempt of searching, leaning against the rail of the deck — the same spot, he realizes with a funny jolt in his stomach, where she pointed Alex out to him on the second day. His pace increases on its own accord as he nears closer to her, and that's when she notices him and gasps, throwing her arms around his neck tightly.

"Henry," she whispers. "I wasn't sure if you — did you see the —"

"Yes, we were both there," Henry mumbles into her shoulder. "I don't know how much damage it caused, if any at all, but we overheard the Captain saying —"

He breaks off at the sight of Bea's face, her eyes tearful, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. "What is it?" he asks quickly. Tries to keep the rising panic out of his tone.

"I spoke with the shipbuilder just a moment ago," Bea says quietly. "He told me that — that the ship is going to sink. The breaches in the boiler room are too large to even attempt to contain the water. They're just starting to board people into the lifeboats." She exhales, her breath coming out shaky. "And the worst part — oh, Henry —"

"There's not enough," Alex mumbles behind him.

Henry whips his head around. Alex isn't looking at him, but instead has his eyes trained to the end of the deck, where crew members are setting up the lifeboats like Bea said. "What do you mean _'not enough?'"_ Henry asks frantically.

"This is first class, Hen," Alex snaps. "You know how proud y'all are about _status,_ like that means a goddamn thing when the ship's going down. You saw how they all looked me at dinner when they realized I wasn't doing anything valuable with my life. You really think they're going to scoot aside and share a seat with someone like me? They'd rather sink on this ship."

Henry's head is spinning. "But there must be others somewhere —"

"They said the boats crowded the deck so — so they took some out," Bea says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Henry, we have to find Philip and get to a boat, _fast,_ come on —"

He lets Bea tug him away, and he's still trying to process the fact that there aren't enough boats to hold all the passengers, that there never was, that the builders _knew_ this and didn't think to do anything. But somewhere through his swimming mind he registers Alex following close behind him, and the fog becomes slightly clearer.

Everything happens faster than he can register. After much convincing from Bea, Philip finally seems to understand that the boat will sink. By this point, lifejackets have been passed out to every woman and child and people are lining up to get helped into the lifeboats. Henry follows his brother and his party back out to the deck, taking notice of the bored faces of the passengers. One woman asks the crew member if she can get some tea as she's lifted into the boat. It makes Henry's stomach churn.

If he's already reacting like this, he can't imagine what is going through Alex's brain right now. He wants to reach out to him, to whisper reassuring words in his ear, but he noticed the way Philip's gaze darkened significantly when he spotted Alex at Henry's side. He's not about to make their situation any worse.

Still. Alex stays by his side the entire time, even if he doesn't speak. It calms Henry to know that he's still there.

"Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?" Martha calls out.

Next to them, a woman is crying as she hugs a man. Her husband, Henry assumes. He can't help but look at Alex, and with a jolt that feels like a sharp punch to his gut, he sees him watching the couple as well. His eyes seem glassy.

"Let's hope they're not too crowded, darling," Philip chuckles in response, placing a hand on Martha's shoulder.

And Henry can't take it anymore. "Shut _up,_ Philip!" he explodes. "This isn't a bloody joke! The ship is sinking, and the water is colder than you'd ever be able to imagine, and there aren't enough damn boats to save everyone. Half the people on this ship are going to _die,_ for Christ's sake!"

Philip can't even bring himself to look bothered at Henry's outburst. "Yes, but not the better half." His eyes flicker over to Alex very pointedly.

Henry can't breathe.

Bea gets in the boat next, giving Henry one last desperate look. Philip kisses Martha goodbye, a kiss that you would give to your lover when leaving for work, when going to bed, a kiss that doesn't hold any meaning outside of _see you later._ How do they not get it? People are going to _die,_ and they still don't get it.

Philip waits until the lifeboat carrying Bea and Martha and the other woman in their company drops out of view, then turns around and claps a hand on Henry's shoulder. "Come, Henry, we'll wait inside until the gentlemen are allowed to board next. Would you like some tea? I'll send a waiter to start some for us."

Henry hears a flare go up in the distance. He wrenches out of his brother's grip. "You unimaginable bastard," he says lowly, his voice shaking. "How could you — you don't even _think_ about —"

He breaks off, because he can't even find the words to describe the bursting hatred he feels for Philip. Somewhere in the sea of people, his hand finds Alex's and he grabs it, laces their fingers together. Alex gives a sharp intake of breath, but squeezes his hand tightly. He doesn't give a damn what Philip thinks anymore. He starts to back away. "Goodbye, Philip."

"Henry —" It's the first sign of desperation in Philip's voice, and although that's not what makes him stop, the hand on his shoulder pulling him back does. "Henry, what on earth do you think you're doing? Think about the company, your marriage — this _family_ —"

"You should have seen by now that I have never cared about _any_ of those things!" Henry yells, attempting to shake off Philip. "And don't you dare bring up the family, all you care about is the attention to the name, you've never stopped to put Bea's feelings over business, or mine —"

"To — to him?" Philip splutters, his face paling now, and a surge of pride rises in Henry's chest as he sees what he's done to his brother. He's not sticking around this time. And this time, Philip knows it. "You want to be a whore to a gutter rat?"

"I'd rather be his whore than whatever you're trying to mold me into," Henry spits.

He and Alex slip away into the crowd, and Philip, too overcome with shock, doesn't try to stop them as they disappear.

Alex tells him he's going back into steerage to help those stuck there. Henry insists he goes with, because he can't bear the idea of being separated from Alex and possibly never seeing him again. Alex tries to talk him out of it, telling him that there will be a boat for him soon enough that he can board, that "these are _my_ people, Henry," but Henry only shakes his head and says, "We're all people. We're on a ship that's going to sink." And Alex gives in at that, pursing his lips, pressing his palm to Henry's cheek briefly before he nods.

There's a crowd of people pressed against the locked gate when they reach it several moments later. The guards stationed there refuse to open the gate, and Alex sobs and pleads with them, but the guards only turn them away and tell them to get back on the deck, the water's about to flood the entire lower level, and Alex is screaming _that's the whole fucking point_ when Henry spots her. The young girl that Alex danced with that night at the party, clutching onto her father's leg with one arm and the other holding a soggy stuffed bear to her chest.

Henry has to pull Alex away when the guard starts threatening him, and Alex fights him the entire time until Henry whispers, "We'll help them, darling, we just need to find a different way in." Alex nods, pulls himself together as best he can, but his eyes are still red and his fists are still trembling, and Henry knows he's anything but fine. He presses a kiss to his knuckles as they turn a corner and find an unguarded set of stairs, the bottom steps already submerged by the water. Henry grits his teeth and moves on.

His lower half burns as they step into the frigid waters. He follows Alex back to the people stuck at the gate, half swimming, half walking. It's an awkward way to move, but his stomach flips as they move past another set of stairs leading downward and he spots the silhouette of a body floating in the water that has completely filled the lower level. He'd rather move awkwardly than end up in that man's fate.

The cries of the lower class passengers are somehow even more brutal when they make it back to the gate. Henry peers over the heads of people just to see the guard that had denied them an entry in walking back up the stairs to the deck. Trapping them in. Not giving the crowd of people a second glance.

"Hey!" Alex yells out. He's squeezing through the passengers, making his way to the front, and Henry follows him, not even giving himself the chance to possibly lose him. "You! Open the gate!" he cries to the guard, but he makes his way to the top of the stairs and disappears from their line of sight. Alex bangs on the gate's doors. "Open the _gate,_ you son of a _bitch!"_

"Alex," Henry pleads softly, "Alex, _please."_

Alex whips around, his eyes scared and desperate, and Henry can't handle seeing Alex like this. His eyes move past Henry, however, and land on the back wall next to them. "The bench," he says, more to himself, then louder, snaking his way back out of the crowd. "The bench, Henry, help me with this goddamn thing —"

Henry doesn't catch on until Alex is tugging the bench out of the flooring, and he quickly flies to the other side to help him. Two men in the back join their attempts, and a few tugs of their combined heaving manages to break the bench off from the ground. Henry steps back, unsure of what to do next. The three of them, however, take the bench in their arms, like they've done this thousands of times before, and Henry shouts out a series of warnings to move back before Alex and the two others slam the side of the bench into the gate. One more great thrust has the gate ripped from its hinges and crashing to the floor. The swarm quickly disperses up the stairs and onto the main deck, up to the boats where all Henry can do is hope that they'll be able to be saved by the lifeboats. Alex drops his end of the bench to the floor, then starts towards the direction they came from, away from the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Henry cries, grabbing Alex's wrist in his hand. Alex attempts to shake him off, but Henry's grip is tight. He pulls Alex back to him. "Alex, we need to get back to the deck —"

"No, there's more people down there, I need to help them," Alex retorts, successfully wrenching away from Henry's grip and moving as fast as he can towards the stairs that go down to the next level. Henry lunges at him, grabbing a fistful of his suspenders, and yanks him back.

"It's flooded down there!" he yells, trying to make Alex look at him, but he's fighting, God, he's such a fighter. _"Alex!"_ he cries, grabbing his face in his hands, and that's when Alex goes limp. Is defeated. "There's no one down there we can save," he says weakly, trying to coax him back to the stairs. "We need to save us now, come on —"

"Don't you get it?" Alex asks, his voice breaking, making Henry stop. "I was supposed to be down there with them. I was supposed to be next to them, fighting to get up here, but I was on the first class deck instead! And you know I didn't deserve to be up there, Philip knows, God, _I_ know, so the least I can do is help these people to safety!"

"I know, love, I know," Henry soothes, rubbing soft circles against his jawline. "But it's _not your fault._ It's not up to you to save everyone. And don't you _dare_ say you didn't deserve to be up there. You did, you did deserve it, just as much as everyone down here deserved it as well." Alex is shivering, flat-out _shivering_ in Henry's embrace, and he pulls him closer, presses a kiss to his mouth. Alex melts into it, kissing back fiercely, nodding against his mouth. Henry pulls away when he feels the water lap at their waists. "You were able to take care of those people. Now you have to take care of yourself."

"Okay." Alex kisses him once more. "Yeah. Okay."

They sprint back up the stairs, emerging onto the deck, which has been flooded by the passengers. Lifeboats are being pushed down from the second level in desperation, people are throwing themselves off the side just to get off the damn thing. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry sees the young girl and her father being pushed into a boat. A small sliver of peace sits in his chest.

"This way," he calls to Alex, pulling him against the crowd to the farthest end of the deck. There has to be a boat somewhere, surely two more can fit, they can't have run out of lifeboats this quickly. He breaks into a run, pulling Alex closer to him. In the distance, he thinks he can hear the faint sound of the band that would play during dinners. He wonders if he's going insane.

He sees a boat at the very end, just about full, and quickens his pace. They're nearly there, Henry can feel it — and then a figure steps in his way, blocking them off from their escape.

"What the _hell?"_ Henry barks, nearly crashing into the person. He looks up, and all the air escapes from his lungs.

"There you are, Henry," Philip says, sounding slightly panicked. He grips Henry's shoulder. "Come with me, there's a gentlemen's boat I've saved a spot for us on. Plenty of room; you don't have to worry about anything. It's just down this way, come on."

"Let _go,_ Philip!" Henry yells, shoving his brother off. He turns back to the boat he set on getting a spot with Alex — it's already being lowered into the water. He curses, tears starting to well up in his eyes. That was their one shot. Their one shot, and it was gone.

"Henry, you best listen to me," Philip says lowly, grabbing Henry again, and Henry thrashes against him. "This opportunity we have in the States is too good to pass up — now we need to get to that boat and —"

 _"Business?"_ Henry cries out. He feels hysterical, and a weak laugh slips from his mouth. "We're on a sinking ship, and all you can think about is the bloody _business?"_

"Henry, you don't understand —"

"No, _you_ don't understand!" Henry shouts. A hand comes down on his shoulder again, but it's not Philip's this time, it's smaller, warmer. More comforting. It grounds him. His mind whirs, and he gets an idea. "I'll go with you if he can come with us."

Philip's eye twitches. "This is a gentlemen's boat, they won't approve the likes of Mr. Claremont-Diaz, surely."

"Does it look like I bloody care?!" Henry cries. "I'm not leaving this ship unless I'm with him, Philip, do you understand?"

Philip glares at him then, his selfless act dropped. Good. Henry never could stand it when his brother always acted like a saint. "Fine," Philip says roughly, grabbing a firm hold on Henry this time and dragging him to the other end of the deck. "Fine!" But it's not until the lifeboat comes into view — full of men who are clearly first class status, just as he promised — that Philip drops the second bomb. "Scum like him isn't allowed in this boat, however, we'll put him on a different one."

"What —" Henry starts, but Philip is pushing him back, his fingers are slipping from Alex's, and he hears Alex say "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll catch the next one, I promise."

"No, not without you," he protests, but Philip is too strong.

"I'm a survivor, alright?" Alex says, and somehow Henry is on the lifeboat, being passed a lifejacket by one of the other passengers. Alex is standing over the rail, looking at Henry with a steady gaze. His eyes, however. Henry can still see the fear in his eyes. "Don't worry about me. I have my own boat to catch."

Then Philip is climbing in next to him, and the boat starts to lower, and Henry reaches out his hand in desperation, but they're too far down already to reach the railing. He doesn't look away from Alex as the lifeboat continues to lower down. He can't quite remember getting on the boat. He hears Philip sigh next to him, clearly content. He's safe, so why should anyone else matter, right? Why should Henry matter? Why should Alex?

A flare shoots off behind Alex and goes off, the light hitting his face, and he looks beautiful.

The boat passes by the second level deck. He looks down at it, then back up to Alex. He makes his second decision of the night.

He braces his foot on the side of the boat and pushes off — he manages to grab onto the railing, but he can feel himself slipping — and then there's hands on him, pulling him back onto the ship, and Philip is yelling, and Alex is yelling from the deck above, and Henry picks himself off the wood and runs, runs back to Alex.

He pushes people out of the way, turns a corner, finds himself in the same room he met Alex at before bringing him to dinner, unaware that his so-called business was simply winning a game of cards. And then Alex is there, the real Alex, not a memory of him, and Henry throws himself into his arms and holds him tight.

"Henry!" Alex cries, holding him to his chest like it's the last thing he'll ever do. His lips find his cheek, his ear, the side of his head. "You're so stupid!" he shouts, kissing him firmly on the lips. He pulls back, cards his hands through his hair. "Why'd you do that, huh?" He pulls him closer, kisses him again. "You're so stupid, Henry!" And his lips find his, and he can't stop kissing him. "Why did you do that, why?"

"You jump, I jump, right?" Henry says, his words broken, his hands cradling Alex's face.

A smile breaks through his tears, a soft, disbelieving smile. "Right," he breathes out, and then he's kissing Henry again, his mouth desperate.

A yell of rage hits Henry's ears — but Alex notices it first, he must have, because he's already pulling Henry away, yelling at him to _move, come on!_ People around them scream. Henry cranes his neck back just enough to catch a glimpse of what is going on — and there's a man, a man he's never seen before, red in the face and staring at the two of them as though they're the lowest scum on earth, chasing after them with a pistol brandished. Because they were seen. They got caught.

The man fires at them, missing and hitting a stone bust instead. Alex is pulling him along; down, down, down the stairs, and Henry hears another gunshot. He grips Alex's hand tighter.

The next bullet hits the water that has flooded the last floor, sending a spray into the air. Alex runs into the water yet again, this time not to save others, but themselves. Two more bullets are shot at them, missing Henry by inches. He can't hear anything except for the pounding of his own heart.

Alex is ushering him towards an open door. They fight against the water into the room, and the next bullet hits the glass to the room. It's one of the grand dining halls, which has miraculously not been flooded yet, but Henry doesn't have time to think about that. They run across the room, occasionally looking back over their shoulders to see if the man is still chasing them, but it seems as though he gave up at the sight of the water. Even so, they don't dare slow down.

They're in one of the corridors again, the water rising at an alarming rate. Alex pushes Henry to the stairs, putting some distance between them and the icy waves of the Atlantic, but there's a gate at the top, a locked one at that, and no bench in sight to bust it open. Henry rattles on it, screaming out for help. Alex does the same.

And by some miracle — some God forsaken miracle — a crew member rushes by on the other side of the gate, jumping up the stairs two at a time. Henry seizes his chance. "Wait, sir! Open the gate, please!"

The man freezes, halfway up the stairs. "Help us!" Henry cries. "Please!"

The man takes one more step up, then his shoulders slump in defeat. "Bloody hell," he whispers to himself, but he's scrambling down the steps and over to the locked gate just as the water catches up to them and washes over their feet.

"Hurry!" Alex is yelling as the man fumbles with his keys. The water is already at their knees and doesn't show any plans to stop. "Come on, come on!"

A light sparks and goes out the moment the water hits waist-level, and Henry hears the man say, "I'm sorry, I've dropped the keys!" Before he can register those words, the man is turning back and dashing up the stairs without a second thought.

"Don't leave!" Henry calls desperately after him, although he knows it's no use. "Please! Get more help!"

He hears Alex take a deep, shuddering breath next to him, feels the ripples of the water as he dives under the surface. He reappears a moment later, shaking his wet curls out of his eyes. "I've got the keys," he shouts over the rushing water. "I've got 'em — which one is it, Hen —"

"The short one, try the short one!" Henry says. The waves lap at his shoulders. He can feel his chest constricting. "Hurry Alex, hurry."

"No, no, no, no, no," Alex is muttering as the waves rise to their necks. "It's stuck, it's not going in —"

"Hurry, _hurry,"_ Henry chants, lifting his head up above the water. They're drowning, they're going to die trapped against a gate in this ship, he knows it —

"I've got it, I've got it!" Alex yells, pushing the doors open as best as he can. "Go, Henry, _go!"_

But the water is already pushing him up to the ceiling, and Henry doesn't have time to think before the waves force him down — and the stairwell is right in front of him, and he breaks the surface, gasping and coughing, blindly reaching around for Alex. "Alex!" he shouts, then louder. "Alex!"

"I'm here, I'm here," Alex calls out, his head emerging from the water. He grabs Henry's hand again and pulls them up the stairs. The ocean follows them, but they're faster this time, not weighed down by the water anymore, and they make it to the main deck, but Henry soon realizes that things aren't much better.

The ship is tilted, almost the entirety of the upper deck submerged, and it continues to tilt further into the vast ocean. Henry and Alex run to the back deck, past people who are knocked overboard, people who are jumping willingly, people who are getting sucked back into the boat as the water breaks open windows, sending them into a whirlpool of suffocation. Henry blinks through his tears, focuses on the feel of Alex's hand in his, concentrates only on getting to the back of the ship.

A funnel creaks in warning, then topples the next second. Henry can hear the screams, can feel the spray of mist from where it lands in the ocean. The ship sinks faster, but he and Alex hold on, grabbing onto the rails to pull themselves towards the back.

By some miracle, they make it there. They fling themselves over the railing as the nose of the ship continues to sink into the water. People who don't have a strong enough grip slide down the deck, seconds away from a date with death. Others continue to cast themselves off the end of the ship. The breaking of glass fills Henry's ears, as does the rush of water, and he can feel himself start to hyperventilate — but then Alex is here; Alex and his strong embrace, his heavy breaths as he presses himself against Henry.

The lights flicker once more, then the ship goes completely dark.

He hears it then — the ripping of wood, the low groan of coils snapping — and with a long, haunting crack, the ship splits in half.

The stern falls back onto the surface of the water, and for one second, everything is level again. But the rushing of water can't seem to go away, and this time the sound is louder, seems nearer than before. Henry squeezes his eyes shut as he feels them rise up once again, but faster this time, much faster. The weight of the broken front part of the ship is pulling them down into the water, and Henry knows — they are all going to drown.

"We have to move!" He hears Alex yell in his ear. His comforting weight disappears, and Henry opens his eyes to see him climbing over the rail onto the other side, bracing himself on the edge of the ship. He reaches a hand out to Henry. "Give me your hand; I'll pull you over."

"I can't," Henry manages. The ship tilts farther, tilts faster.

"C'mon, take my hand, take my hand," Alex chants. Henry clasps onto his hand with as much strength as he can muster. He can feel his legs start to give out below him.

"That's it," Alex says. "I've got you, now turn around."

Henry does as he says. Alex pulls him up until they're both on the opposite side of the rail, now nearly perpendicular to the ocean as the water gets closer and closer. In one, final moment of hysteria, Henry realizes that this is the place where he and Alex first met, only he pulled him onto the edge of the ship instead of the safety of the deck this time. Alex saved his life here. Henry squeezes the rail with white knuckles. Prays that Alex will be able to do it again.

The ship is completely vertical now. Henry watches as people tumble into the waters that await them, smashing against the protruding architectures, dead before they're swallowed up by the Atlantic. Then — slowly at first, now gradually picking up speed — the ship starts to sink in the water.

"This is it!" Alex yells, kneeling against the railing.

"Oh god, oh god," Henry hears himself yelling, then Alex's voice, soothing to his ear: _Hold on, just hold on, baby, hold on._

"The ship is gonna suck us down," Alex tells him, his chest rising and falling, trying to savor the last remaining seconds they'll have of oxygen. "Take a deep breath when I say." He grips Henry's hand tighter, if that was even possible.

The water is a mere hundred feet away from them. "Kick to the surface and _keep kicking,"_ Alex instructs. "Do not let go of my hand." Henry nods, gasping for breath.

"We're gonna make it, Henry. Trust me."

Henry lets himself have one last look at him before the water completely surrounds them.

"I trust you."

The water gets closer, closer, closer. Henry shuts his eyes. Any minute now...

"Ready?" Alex is yelling. "Ready? NOW!"

Henry sucks in a deep breath, and then all he can feel is ice.

They get separated underwater. Henry doesn't know how, but one moment he was gripping Alex's hand in his, and the next he could only feel the numbing water. But he does what Alex instructed and he kicks, he kicks towards the surface and keeps kicking until his head breaks the surface. He spits the water out of his mouth, whipping his head around, trying to spot him. "Alex!"

But everyone around him is screaming as well, calling out for their lost ones, and Henry doesn't know if he'll ever be able to find him. He kicks himself forward, anything that will make his chances of finding Alex higher. "Alex!"

Someone knocks into him, and he tumbles headfirst into the ocean. He comes back up seconds later, coughing. "Alex," he rasps.

"HENRY!" He hears somewhere out in the crowd. He blinks the water out of his eyes, wills himself to keep swimming. He needs to find him. And then again — "HENRY!"

"Alex!" he calls, but his voice is growing weaker, and he isn't sure how much longer he can scream out into the night. He coughs again. "Alex!"

"Henry," he hears, close and only for his ears, and Alex is behind him, pulling him to his body, kissing the side of his face. "Henry, hey, hey. I've got you."

"Hi," is the only thing Henry can say, leaning into his touch. He's so tired. So, so tired.

"I need you to swim for me," Alex tells him. "Can you do that, baby? I need you to swim."

He can swim with Alex pulling him along, yelling encouragements back to him. There's something Alex is leading him to, Henry notices, squinting in the dark. As they near closer, he realizes what it is: a large piece of debris from the Titanic, one of the first class doors.

"Here, get on," Alex says, pulling the door closer. Henry staggers onto it, but his clothes are so heavy from the water and his body is so weak, he keeps slipping off. "Come on, Henry. Come on," Alex keeps mumbling, pushing him onto the door. He grabs ahold of the other end, pulling himself on, but their combined weight is too much for the floating piece of wood and tips over. Henry cries out, unexpectedly sinking under the water again. Alex pulls him back up, guides him back onto the door. "Stay on, Hen. That's it."

Then Henry is out of the water, mostly, at least, and he can rest now. He leans his cheek against his hands, trying to catch his breath. The water ripples around the door, and Alex is in front of him now, taking one of his hands and pressing his lips to the knuckles. His mouth is cold now, the exact opposite of what it felt like earlier in the car. Henry's mind swirls at the thought. He can't believe it was only hours ago that the two of them were pressed against each other, hands roaming and mouths hungry.

"You're alright now," Alex whispers. Henry inches closer to him, pressing their foreheads together. Alex sighs out. "You're alright now."

A whistle blows in the distance. Henry can't see how that will do any help.

"They'll be c-coming back," Alex tells him, his teeth starting to chatter from the cold. "It m-might take a while, but they're g-gonna come back."

"Okay," Henry breathes. He closes his eyes.

Time passes. Henry isn't sure how long it's been. The screams have died down. The whistle has stopped blowing. It's eerily silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of water.

"It's getting quiet," Henry says, his cheek resting on top of their clasped hands.

Alex is shivering; he can feel it in his hand, can hear it when he speaks. "It's j-just g-gonna take a — a c-couple minutes — t-to get the b-boats organized," he manages. "I d-don't know about y-you, b-but — b-but I intend t-to w-write a — a strongly w-worded l-letter to the W-White Star Line about a-all of this." He smiles as best as he can at Henry, laughing weakly, but Henry doesn't react. He stares at him, at this beautiful boy whose curls are frozen against his head, whose fingers tremble as they hold him, and yet he is still smiling, still laughing, doing everything he can to put Henry at ease.

"I love you, Alex," he says quietly.

Alex lifts his chin up from where it was resting on the door. Something in his eyes hardens. "D-Don't you do that," he tells him. "Don't y-you say your goodbyes. N-Not yet, do y-you understand me?"

"I'm so cold," is all Henry can say.

"Listen Henry. You're g-gonna g-get out of here. You're gonna g-go on, a-and you're gonna get a-away f-from this l-life, and you're g-gonna s-start your own w-way. You're gonna d-die an old — old m-man, w-warm in h-his b-bed. Not here. Not this n-night. Not l-like th-this, d-do you understand m-me?"

"I can't feel my body."

Alex reaches his other arm out of the water, wraps it around Henry's shoulders. "Winning that ticket, Hen, was the b-best thing that ever h-happened t-to me. It brought me to you. And I'm th-thankful for that, b-baby. I'm thankful."

Henry whimpers. Alex brings his arm down, his other hand wrapping around Henry's, holding him tightly with both. His elbows brace against the edge of the door, holding him up. "You must — you must d-do me this h-honor," he continues. His teeth are chattering even faster. "Y-You must p-promise m-me that you'll survive. That — you w-won't — give up." It's getting harder and harder for him to speak, Henry can tell, but he keeps going. "No m-matter — what happens. No matter how — h-hopeless —" He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping. Opens them again. "Promise m-me n-now, Henry. And n-never l-let go of th-that promise."

"I promise," Henry says weakly. He can feel himself shaking.

Alex leans in as close as he can. "Never let go," he whispers.

"I'll never let go, Alex," he promises. "I'll never let go."

Alex smiles, shivering, and presses a cold kiss to the back of his hand.

He lets go, minutes later, not looking back as Alex's frozen body sinks to the ocean floor. He lets go because he promised to never let go.

He's quiet as the crew members pull him aboard the Carpathia. Barely notices when someone throws another blanket around his shoulders, presses a cup of steaming tea in his hand. His mind is blank. He doesn't know how to feel.

He sees Philip at one point, walking around the steerage deck. He hides his face from him.

But Bea finds him later, and Henry lets her, pulling her into a tight hug as she rushes towards him. He can feel her shoulders shaking as she cries against his shoulder. "I didn't know what to think," she sobs. "Henry, I can't believe... I don't know what I would have done if you weren't... but you're okay, you're okay..."

Henry holds her close. He purposely doesn't think of the lifeboat that Bea was lucky enough to escape in, doesn't think of all the extra room the first class women had. Doesn't think of the hundreds of bodies he swam through to get to the one lifeboat that came back. One lifeboat out of twenty.

"Have you heard — Philip —" Bea asks, her voice trembling slightly.

"I've seen him around," Henry says. It's the first time he's spoken in hours. He's surprised at how weak he sounds.

"Okay," Bea breathes out, sounding relieved. At least one of them is. Her nails dig into Henry's shoulders as she speaks again. "I tried to get them to go back, Henry. I did. But none of them said a word — not Martha, not anyone. They threatened to kick me out if I didn't stop." She cries harder into Henry's shirt. "I'm sorry, Henry, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Henry murmurs. "You tried all that you could. Thank you."

It's raining by the time the ship passes by the Statue of Liberty, and Henry is so out of it that he barely even feels the raindrops against his skin. Bea comes back with an umbrella soon enough, pulls Henry under it. It doesn't make a difference. He can only focus on the great landmark of New York. The idea of the city was so enticing to him not even a day ago, and now, as he stares at Lady Liberty, he feels nothing. The promises of the city don't feel the same to him anymore.

"Can I take your names, sir and ma'am?" a crew member asks them. Bea gives them hers, but Henry stays silent. He can't look away from the statue.

The man clears his throat. "Your name, sir?" he asks again.

"Claremont," Henry hears himself say. "Henry Claremont-Diaz."

The man nods, walks away, and Bea doesn't ask. Doesn't need to. She rests her head on his shoulder, watching the Statue of Liberty pass by. The rain continues to fall, the ship continues to sail, and the city glows as it waits for them. Henry's hand finds the key that's still hanging from his neck, running his fingertips over the grooves, pressing it to his chest. He stares out into the city and feels his heart beat against the key. A different type of promise. A promise of what could have been.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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